


Pros and Cons of Loving Arlo L. St. Luca

by filthyloverboy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Abuse, LGBTQ Themes, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Sexual Abuse, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-08-02 14:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16307204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthyloverboy/pseuds/filthyloverboy
Summary: Arlo is an out and (not-so) proud transgender male who frequents songwriting as a way to cope with trauma.CT is a closeted nonbinary folk with a tendency to get heated really fast, particularly with their father.They have been friends since Arlo's 8th grade year, meeting online and then ending up going to the same school the year after.Arlo is a people pleaser, and a horny bisexual bottom bitch.CT is a toxic extrovert, and chaotic queer top 90% of the time.The two are extreme opposites in most senses, but seem to get along great. An odd-couple story full of drama, romance, and angst, can these two put their differences aside and stop arguing long enough to see where they stand?





	1. Pretty Boy

**Author's Note:**

> "I fucking hate you, CT. I'm beyond done with you! You always do this! Why do I-"  
> "Arlo, shut the hell up."

[PRECURSOR- this is written in Catrina’s (CT) Point Of View, so, therefore, “I’s” and whatnot are them.]

 

I sat in class, watching Arlo through the corner of my eye. That kid made me a little too jealous. He liked to show people up, specifically in front of me. I took notice mentally, but never let it slip out. Stroking his ego might make it worse. So now he sat in English 4 honors instead of his regular English 3 class meant for juniors, like him. Mr. Samson stood at the front of the class, going down the roster so we could read our essays. They were supposed to be informational nonfiction on our emotions, and most of the ones so far have been, “Oh I’m pretty happy a lot, I get happy cuz of football and stuff,” because the dumb jocks all are grouped on the attendance sheet. 

“Arlo? It’s your turn.” Samson boomed, his white fluffy mustache curling up into a smile shape. He adored Arlo, almost as much as I did. I mean, uh, what? He shot up from his seat and eyed me, hazel green eyes glimmering in the buzzing overhead lights. He wore a simple outfit today, a creme colored T-shirt tucked into black skinny jeans with black Vans. His hair was still the same from freshman year, jet black except for his red skunk stripe. As adorable as it was, he looked kind of funny. He got taller and his voice got lower, having started testosterone the summer between freshman and sophomore year, and his weight proportioned to make him more handsome, er, masculine.  
He shot me a quick grin before striding to the front of the classroom, pierced lip curling into an eager smile before he turned to Mr. Samson. “Is it okay if it’s creative nonfiction instead?”  
I think Samson was just excited to see Arlo up reading to show up these thickheaded gorillas, so he nodded profusely and sat on the corner of his desk, waiting with hopeful eyes. Arlo cleared his throat and examined the room, blinking a few times before exhaling and beginning to read his paper.  
“Alright, so my therapist says that this essay is healthy, and might inspire other kids if I read it out in front of all of you, which I think is bullshit, but whatever,” Mr. Samson looked shocked, but waved eagerly for him to proceed, “So, uh, my best friend died a few months ago. She was, well, a great person, I guess,” He sighed and tilted his head back, blinking rapidly like he had moments before, “Also, just a quick add-on, my therapist made me write this, which is a load of bullshit,” Arlo repeated, obviously too clouded in his thoughts to realize he repeated himself. Samson opened his mouth to scold him, but simply shook his head and let him continue, “But the only thing distracting me from being so sad is thoughts of you.”  
' Huh?' I thought to myself, furrowing my brow subconsciously as Arlo’s face lit up as bright as the streak in his hair. His lips parted again to speak, a nervous chuckle escaping before any words formed. “Thoughts of your laugh when I tell dumb jokes, thoughts of the corners of your eyes crinkling when you smile at me. Thoughts of whispered ‘I love you’s and hollered ‘suck my peepee’s,” He laughed a bit, scratching the back of his neck. 'He really is cute up there' I thought, shaking my head to clear my thoughts as crimson spread across my cheeks. His voice continued, my ears happy to hear it, “But, you’re how old again? Far too old, for me, at least. You’re out of my league, a star shining the brightest in the night sky. I can’t reach that star, even if I tried. You are absolutely amazing, able to distract me the way you do. Even if we’re skipping class to do whatever, which is usually just sitting on the bleachers and talking about things you’re too scared to be honest about. I’ve been being honest since seventh grade, and as much as it hurts, it’s beyond freeing. Believe me, I know you’re trapped in there.” He cleared his throat, his typically hazel eyes now a foggy forest color, brimming with tears. My heart broke as they began to fall from his big eyes, dripping down his quivering chin. He inhaled sharply, fixing his posture and continuing to speak.  
“I want to free you. I want you to be honest with me. With yourself. I don’t want to keep sneaking around with you because you’re too scared to be seen with me. I don’t want to deny every single one of my goddamn feelings for you because you’re in denial about yours. It’s killing me, okay? It isn’t fair, it’s a worse pain than any compressing could cause me,” I knew what he meant. No one at the high school knew about his gender identity, they just saw him as what he was; a man, “So when you’re ready to be honest and to stop slowly crushing me to death, then I am too.” He set his paper on the counter behind him, wiping his eyes and blinking a bit before sighing, smiling meekly at Mr. Samson.  
“Mr. St. Luca that essay was just astounding! I’m baffled by the realness of those words-” it didn’t matter what Samson said, Arlo was already out of the classroom, his messenger bag still slouching against the leg of his chair. 

 

I followed quickly after the bell rang, draping the handle of the black messenger bag over my scrawny shoulder. I looked down, examining the patches ironed on and the pins pushed through the canvas-like material of it. I traced my thumb over a patch, designed with half of a heart, and half of a DJ style record player (a turntable, I now realize) as I walked, glancing up every now and again to make sure I didn’t headbutt someone. I looked up from the bag to keep my eyes on the campus, the all too familiar sting of tears trying to push its way through to spill. I made it to the visitor’s bleacher set, seeing the alternative male puffing out smoke. He pulled his aromatherapy pen away from his pale lips and looked up at the sky, letting tears silently fall.  
“Arlo! Hey, are you okay?” I holler, skipping steps up to hear him better, staying a few rows away from him, as to not invade his personal space.  
“Yo.” He stated calmly, voice hinted with the slightest bit of shakiness. He took a puff of his pen again, a cloud of vapor exploding from his mouth, the smell of citrus stinging my nose lightly.  
“Hey, Arlo, I.. I liked your ess-”  
“It was about you.” He whispered curtly, jaw clenching as he kept his eyes on the cloudless sky. I wasn’t sure what to say. 'Well, no shit, it was about me' I thought to myself, scratching the back of my neck. Most of the time, I have stunning confidence, nothing scares me. Except for Arlo. He opened his mouth to speak again, a small cloud of excess smoke 'puff'ing out from his lips, “Are you gonna come sit or just stare at me?” he asked, eyes widening in curiosity as he patted the metal seat beside him. I shook myself out of my thoughts rapidly and hopped up the steps, sitting next to him. I left a good football player-sized distance between us, still kind of anxious around him. I wanted to talk to him, though, but I was unsure what to say.  
“Why’d you write it?”  
“My therapist, remember?”  
“No, Arlo, really, why’d you write it?” I asked softly, gulping as I reached out, my hand covering his. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t dart his hand away, instead blushing ever-so-slightly and gently rubbing his thumb over mine as he examined the ozone. “I wrote it so you’d know how I felt about this. I don’t know what we are, and I hate that feeling, despite what I’ve said in the past. I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for, but my family just sees you as my best friend who casually kisses my cheek and sits abnormally close to me at outings and holds my hand when we’re in public. You tell me you love me but when we’re here you pretend you don’t know me. You say it’s because I’m younger but you’re the one acting childish, CT.”  
His words stung, but I knew they were true. It wasn’t that I wasn’t ready, or thought he was childish, it was because I was scared of being so attached. I love him. I know I do, but usually stories like this, where friendship blossoms into romance, end with two broken people, and if I broke him more than he already was, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. He’s been through too much already, with past relationships and his father and his brother and his peers. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt again, and I thought if I didn’t commit to anything, that would stop him from getting hurt by me, but it only made it worse. I felt a pit grow in my stomach as I clutched onto his hand, letting the tears burning my eyes spill, a choked out sob breaking the silence between us. His neck quickly jerked, turning his head to look at me, concerned. His eyes went wide, turning my face to look at him, wiping my eyes swiftly.  
“Hey, hey, hey... I didn’t mean to make you cry, CT. I just… I couldn’t hold that in anymore. I know you didn’t mean to, but you hurt me a lot,” he whispered, his shining hazel eyes peering into my own green ones. I moved my hand from his, placing it on his knee instead and leaning close, kissing him faintly, barely feeling his lips against mine. I couldn’t really think. I had kissed him a thousand times before, in my car, in his room, on his sofa, out with friends (we were drunk, to be fair), after his plays, almost all of the time. This time, though, felt entirely different. It felt as though we were re-learning each other entirely. Like I had never kissed him. His lips pressed deeper against mine, the softness of them making my entire body convulse slightly. The way he made me feel was confusing, to say the least. I didn’t mind, though, I actually quite liked it, this new feeling. But, it was over far too soon. Arlo pulled away slowly, shaking his head and chuckling lightly. He looked almost peaceful sitting across from me. His eyes were still closed, but not closed harshly. His eyelids still fluttering and blinking instinctively from the breeze. His hair moved faintly from the wind, uncovering his forehead, which was dotted with little acne spots.  
“You wanna ditch seventh period, CT?”


	2. Teenager In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God-fucking-dammit, CT.

Arlo’s form of ditching was very simple. We’d go to  _ my  _ car (since he rode his skateboard to school or got a ride from his mom, because of the bus scandal.) Sit in there and get high out of our minds, or drive to his house (because no one would be home) and make out or some shit. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, hopping in the passenger seat of my hand-me-down Toyota Camry and getting cozy, sighing contently.  _ Damn, he really is cute _ I thought to myself, not brushing away the thought this time. I liked the thought, it was warm, domestic even. I figured what better time to accept my feelings and my thoughts than right now. Arlo’s mouth opened to form words, only to cut himself off and open his mouth again. 

“Do you wanna come back to my place, or do you have something else in mind?”

I went to answer him, only to be interrupted by my phone  _ ping _ ing, a signal that Marlow had texted me. At the moment, Marlow was the lovely lady I was speaking to from across the country, who had no idea about my stolen kisses with Arlo, and who didn’t exist to the punk rocker wannabe sitting in the passenger seat of my car. Before I could reach for my phone, it was in Arlo’s hands, and he cocked an eyebrow as he read the text. His thumbprint was in my phone, as I trusted him with my life, so he opened up my phone and read the conversation.

 

**CT_tae:** _“I wish you were here babygirl 😍”_

**Marlonely:** _ “I know, darling, I can’t stop thinking bout u” _

**CT_tae:** _ “Oh? What do you mean by that? ;)” _

**Marlonely:** _ “Why don’t we video chat u can find out XP” _

 

Arlo’s face dropped as he scrolled up, reading previous… not so appropriate conversations between Marlow and me, seeing every time we said we loved each other, every silly selfie we sent and paragraphs on how much we meant to each other. He locked my phone back up and set it in my cup holder, his face boiling with an indescribable emotion. 

“Arlo... I, uh... I didn’t-”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” He said simply, his face calming down to a blank canvas, like the ones hanging in his bedroom. He opened the door of my car and stood outside of it for a moment, just staring at me. In that moment, I could feel my soul being examined. As if he were trying to test whether or not there was actually any good in me. There was, I’m sure, but right then, I felt like I was pure evil. Like I had hurt him for the last time, and there he was. He had officially had enough. I knew that because of the way he said, 

“I’ll see you in English.”

I went through the rest of the day with a dull feeling. It was like… an elephant was sitting on my chest, but I couldn’t  _ feel  _ it crushing me. I could feel the pressure, but no pain. I really just sat in the parking lot of the school, waiting for Arlo’s class to let out, and then waving him over when I saw him. His eyes met mine, this time his full of brooding anger. He glared, as though he was planning my funeral in his head, and proceeded to walk towards his house. I pulled out of my spot quickly, my car lurching forward to follow him. I rolled my window down rapidly and furrowed my brow, attempting to plead so he would get in. 

“Arlo, please. I can explain it all,  _ please _ just get in.”

He stopped walking, my car pulling a little ahead of him before it crawled to a stop. I could see the sigh leave his lips as he shuffled in front of my Camry, into the passenger seat. 

   “Okay. Explain.”

“Look, I’m sorry about what you saw. I really do love you, Arlo. I want to take you on dates and spend my days with you! Not someone halfway around the damn world!”

    “Then why the hell are you telling her you love her? That’s beyond unfair, CT. I would never do that to you.” He growled out, tears brimming his foresty eyes as he kept them glued to the road in front of us.

“I know it wasn’t fair and I know you would never do that to me. I’m sorry I did that. She and I were talking a while ago when I thought you wouldn’t want to be with me. When I thought you’d want to be with Kandace instead.”

“If you had told me you wanted to be with me, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

   “If you hadn’t obviously flirted with her directly in front of me, I would’ve told you.”

“If I didn’t feel I needed to make you jealous so you’d want me, I wouldn’t have flirted with her!” His voice raised to a yell, voice cracking from sobs as he turned to me, his face a wreck. His cheeks were as bright as the stripe in his hair, and tears streaming from reddened eyes. My heart sank when I locked eyes with him, gulping down the lump in my throat. I tapped my bony fingers against my steering wheel, signaling that we were stopped in front of his house, sighing deeply and pursing my lips. “I’m sorry Arlo,” I began, stopping mid-sentence for him to leave my car and say one last thing to me before he left.

“I’m beyond fucking done with you.”


	3. It Still Beats For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love my trans gay son.
> 
>  
> 
> ALsO I didn't write the song Arlo wrote, it's by an artist on IG called spoon??

[THE NEXT CHAPTER IS WRITTEN IN ARLO’S POINT OF VIEW]

 

I felt every ounce of my body fill with anger as I stepped into my house. I knew no one was home, so I let out an ungodly scream and threw my messenger bag across the living room. It hit the wall with a loud _ thud _ , hearing something crack in it. At the moment, I could care less about a laptop designed for school, so I let it sit there as I stormed upstairs to my bedroom.  _ I shouldn’t have let them in again. I should’ve just stayed away. I should’ve known I was bound to get hurt. That’s all that ever happens to me anyway.  _ I thought to myself, sighing and groaning in frustration. I slammed my bedroom door shut and leaned against it, cupping my face in my hands and grumbling incoherently into them. I just sat there, thinking. Thinking about whether or not I could be okay seeing them again, what I was supposed to do now. I haven’t really thought about anything past being with them, my future or whatever. 

After a few minutes of staring at the palms of my hands, I stood up slowly, peeling off my shirt. I wiggled out of my jeans, kicking them off over my shoes, leaving me in just a pair of black boxer briefs, and my Vans. I step over to my mirror, looking at myself dully. My eyes scanned over my slight pudge, the stretch marks decorating the area just around my v-line. They looked at the scar tissue under each one of my pecs, still reddened and slightly bruised. My bottom lip quivered, causing my eyes to dart up, looking at the dull metal shine of the balls. My body shook, eyes looking over thick thighs and skinny ankles. Over pale skin dotted in acne marks and honey-colored freckles. I saw what Marlow looked like, and I could understand what she had that I didn’t. For starters, she  _ is _ a woman, and CT and I had had several conversations on if we  _ had  _ to pick, which gender we’d prefer. I always said  _ it doesn’t matter, whoever I fall in love with, duh _ and they’d say  _ aw, that’s super cute, but I think I might still pick girls. You’re the only exception, baby. _ When they’d say that, I’d pout until they kissed me, and we’d go back to talking and smoking and whatever else was on our itinerary. So now it was obvious they meant it. 

They wanted Marlow, the girl with DD cups in her bra and was still busting out of them. 

 

The girl with a beautiful smile and slim eyes painted with ebony colored eyeliner. 

 

Not the boy with body issues even if he’s done everything in his power to make himself happy. 

 

The boy who vapes with lavender and eucalyptus because he might have a panic attack if he doesn’t. 

 

The boy who is entirely too fucked up, to the point where he feels if he lives past twenty-three it might be  _ something _ to be proud of.

 

I felt my eyes start to flood with tears, unable to stop them from streaming. I couldn’t see my body anymore, just a pasty blur in my mirror, which was decorated with stickers from skate  shops and Amazon, which just looked like blobs of different colors. I collapsed back onto my bed, letting out a pained sob. Everything ran through my brain, from two years ago, when my mom unwrapped the bandanas around my wrists to see fresh scars. From 3rd grade, when I broke a boy’s arm because he told me no one would love me. From when I moved here, everything falling apart around me because my father had permanently damaged my soul and my brain. From just a year ago, when my heart was ripped from my chest and shoved back in within seconds, on our anniversary. From twenty minutes ago, when my scotch-taped heart was thrown on the ground and obliterated right in front of me. 

My tears poured down onto my bed sheets, turning spots from their original grey color to black. I watched them fall (the best I could without making my eyes want to pop out of their sockets) and sighed, wiping my eyes and shaking the thoughts from my head. I needed to get myself together. Needed to let CT go. The thought made me shudder as I stood, hating the idea of letting them go. When I was with them, it made me feel good, like I was making  _ them  _ feel good. Maybe I wasn’t, but that’d never popped into my mind until right this  _ very  _ second. Maybe I hadn’t made them happy, maybe they hung out with me the same reason everyone hung out with me; so they could get brownie points for whichever teacher felt sorry for me. That only applied for 6th grade to about 9th grade, considering I transferred and started T and made sure no one found out about me, except Kandace and CT, now. 

I lifted up a pair of dirty skinny jeans, pulling them up my legs so I didn’t feel uncomfortable when my mother got home and sat down at my desk.  _ Maybe I overreacted  _ I pondered, hunting for a notebook on my cluttered desktop, tapping a pencil against the ledge of it. I picked up a seafoam colored spiral that seemed to be relatively untouched, opening it to the first page, writing out the lyrics to a tune from the top of my head.

 

_ “Hey, pretty love,  _

_ With the pretty eyes,  _

_ Please listen to me. _

_ Tu es l’amour de ma vie _

_ Your laugh is melodious _

_ (To me, anyway) _

_ Your smile makes me shiver, _

_ But in a good way, _

_ And hey. _

_ I’m glad to say, I choose to  _

_ stay.” _

 

[PRECURSOR: WE ARE RETURNING TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING. BACK TO CT’S POINT OF VIEW]

__

I walked into school on Monday very… reluctantly, to say the least. I hadn’t cared what I looked like, dressed in simple black jeans and a hoodie from a Justin Bieber concert I didn’t even go to. Usually, I tried, brushing my hair and putting on eyeliner so Arlo would think I looked good. Countless times, he’d say  _ I don’t care how you look, I’d love you anyway _ right before kissing me just like he meant it. But, at that time, our relationship was strictly physical, even if it didn’t go anywhere past  _ his  _ belt. 

He was shy, and I respected that. In due time, I would’ve gotten what I wanted, but when he talks the way he does, it feels as though he was just getting cold feet. I wouldn’t blame him for that, either. It takes a lot to be comfortable in your skin, especially when you were born in the wrong body. It took me ages to do that, so if it took him a few more, so be it. I could deal with just imagining it, instead.*

  I walked into my first period, flopping into my desk next to Orion, a mutual friend of Arlo and mine. He tilted his head curiously at me, knowing something was off, and I simply shook my head. He rested his hand on my shoulder and flashed a reassuring, brace-covered smile towards me, lightening my mood a bit. “Have you seen Arlo today?” I blurted, knowing Orion would be shocked that I’d even been able to mention his name.

“Sorry bud, I don’t think so. I think he brushed past me this morning, like he was in a hurry to get somewhere, or set something up, but I dunno what. I’m pretty sure he had a ukulele with him, too, which I didn’t know he played, I thought he only played guitar and keyboard and drums, but if he wants to be a stereotypical gay boy, so be it. I’m an insecure artist, stereotypical trans kid. They exist for a reason, you know,” Orion proceeded to ramble, filling my ears with muffled noise, having tuned out after ‘In a hurry to get somewhere, or set something up.’ I wanted to know what it was. What he was doing. Even if he didn’t want anything to do with me, I still wanted every part to do with him. It felt weird even breathing without catching hints of his cheap, yet classy dollar store cologne, or smiling without a bad joke or cheesy compliment to follow. It felt weird sitting next to Orion without Arlo on the other side of me. It felt odd with no ‘good morning, homo’ coffees through my window, or polite greetings to my step-father from him, only getting snide remarks from my caretaker from hell. 

I stood from my seat, waving my goodbye to Orion and murmuring something like, “I’ve gotta go grab something for tech theatre, I’ll catch you in 7th period,” and stumbled out of my Calculus class. I went to walk out of the building, and out towards the courtyard if I hadn’t bumped into someone on my way down the steps. I wobbled a bit before two strong arms wrapped around my body as if it were like clockwork. My eyes were closed, prepared for impact, so they filled with shock when they fluttered open to see none other  t han Arlo, red-faced and teary-eyed from something previous to this encounter. His black button up was covered in little Pikachus, the collar half up and half down, as no one fixed it for him, and his typical sterling  balls were switched to something classier; thin, black rings with balls on either end, like horseshoes sticking out of his mouth. His septum ring matched, making his pale, freckle-dusted face glow. I felt the small, guitar-shaped instrument press into my small back, the end of a string poking me. I could care less, though. Arlo was holding me again and in that moment I felt as though I was floating. Like nothing could harm me and all was right, but I knew that wasn’t true, either. I knew he was just a kind soul, that he would’ve done this to anyone in the scenario if it weren’t me, but I know he wouldn’t look at them like he did at me. Like he was missing something like  _ I  _ was that thing he was missing. Like if we were just two inches closer it would remedy everything and we could go on being everyone’s favorite non-couple.

He helped me stand, smiling kindly towards me. As much as he tried to make it seem completely platonic, I could still see the hints of  _ come back, I love you  _ and  _ I’m lost without you _ but maybe I was making that up. Maybe, some demon in the back of my head thought it’d be funny to toy with my own emotions like that. Like it’d be cool to just, ‘ _ whoops, just dropped in a lot of ASSUMPTION, you better watch out.’ _

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice hoarse like he hadn’t gotten over his morning voice yet. His voice was already low but wasn’t rough and gravelly like that, so when he spoke to me, it caught me off guard. 

   “Y-yeah, yeah. I’m fine. How’re you? Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying, who hurt you? Arlo, you know I’ll do anything for you, you can talk to me abou-”

“Shush. Look, I uh, I was thinking last night, and I wrote a song. Maybe I could walk you to class first?” He offered, his voice now timid and shy, as per usual, standing me back on my own feet. I blushed lightly and simply nodded, walking back towards my calculus class. I peer through the window as we got there, Arlo’s high tops squeaking behind me, a sound all too familiar to my ears. Orion spotted us and opened the door, his glasses rising when he grinned, a smile filling his face.

“Hey, you two are here! What took you so long?”

  “How’d you know Arlo would be coming with me?” 

Orion smiled and looked down at the tile floor, his messy sea foam colored curls bouncing as he did. I turned to Arlo, who’s skunk striped locks greeted my face, hints of a smile still visible. I blushed lightly, pushing past Orion to my seat, Arlo following quickly behind me. I was confused as to why he was following me, but I let it slip my mind as I looked up to him from my desk. 

“May I help you, good sir?” I asked softly, tilting my head and drawing my brows towards the center of my forehead curiously. He shook his head as Orion took his seat next to me, telling the teacher something in a hushed tone that I just couldn’t make out. Not that I was actively trying, anyway. I was a little preoccupied with Arlo using a chair from the desk in front of me to stand on the front counter.  “Arlo, what in god’s name are you doing?” I asked, not getting a response as he pulled out his ukulele, which was covered in punk rock stickers and carved in hearts (that I put there.)

 

“S’cuse me, may I have everyone’s attention?” He spoke bashfully, face as red as the stripe in his hair as he grinned ear to ear. “There’s a person in this class, who I’m sure you all know, considering we’ve been inseparable since my freshman year. But there’s a person in here who I haven’t been on the best terms with, and I took a lot of time last night to prepare this. So, uh, here goes nothing.” I listened to him clear his throat and strum the small instrument, causing my heart to beat out of my chest. I felt crimson flush over my face like a wave of embarrassment, but the good kind. He began to sing, and I actually lost it. My eyes lit up and my smile grew almost as big as his. 

_ “Hey, pretty love, _

_ With the pretty eyes, _

_ Please listen to me” _

As he sang, he hopped off the counter and onto the floor, swaying and stepping to the rhythm his ukulele made. He walked slowly around the class, continuing the song.

_ “Tu es l’amour de ma vie. _

_ Your laugh is melodious _

_ (To me, anyway) _

_ Your smile makes me shiver _

_ But in a good way.” _

He made his way around the classroom, his eyes obviously about to spill tears as he made his way to my desk. I giggled softly, covering my mouth as he sat on my desk, leaving zero space between us as he finished up with the last little bit.

_ “And hey. _

_ I’m glad to say, _

_ I choose to stay.” _


End file.
